


Guide Me

by Johnnlocked (Krullenbol2602)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on That Anyway, Blood, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pre-Slash, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Story: The Adventure of the Three Garridebs, tears tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krullenbol2602/pseuds/Johnnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets shot. Sherlock struggles to save him with his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guide Me

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr inspired ficlet. Enjoy!

‘That’s it, Sherlock. Keep pressing down. You’re doing brilliantly.’

Sherlock can feel his hands trembling, but he presses. With every ounce of strength he has, he presses. ‘Careful, Sherlock. Not too hard. That’s it. Right there, keep it there. They’re coming, Sherlock. Just a bit longer.’

If Sherlock closes his eyes he can almost imagine himself being back home. Years ago. Both of them so much younger and more wary around each other.

John propped up on the kitchen chair, showing him how to dress a leg wound. Not serious enough to warrant a trip to the A&E on Friday night, but significant enough for John to need a hand. It was only logical, Sherlock had argued at the time; they were bound to get into more scraps together and for all his knowledge, medical emergency procedures was not something Sherlock had ever bothered learning.  

After Sherlock was cleaned and dressed the wound, they talked the night away. Discussion various scenarios and what to do, joking, bantering. It had almost been fun.

Not this though. Not with John being so still and pale and not with his blood still warm on Sherlock’s hands as he kept pressing down. Not with the tears blurring his sight and the ambulance too far away from them.

‘Please, John,’ he gasps. ‘You can’t… not now, please. I haven’t told you – I never did and I should have…’

‘Shh, love. I know. I know.’

Sherlock looks up and he’s greeted with the same John that occupied his wing in Sherlock’s mind palace since the pool. All warm and gentle smiles and steady hands and fierce determination in his eyes. ‘Nearly there, Sherlock. You’re saving me. Again, you’re saving me. Leave one hell of a scar, though.’

Something unravels in Sherlock’s chest and a half-laugh, half-sob escapes him. The John under his hands groans. Still breathing. Heart still beating. Sirens are… two streets away. Oh God, please let them hurry.

Sherlock looks down again, to his hands, and it sickens him to see how much blood John is losing. But he will stop it. As much as he can, for John, he will stop it. He has to!

 

The police car carrying Greg arrives first, but Sherlock doesn’t hear him over the sound of John’s encouragements and it isn’t until he tells him to let go because the ambulance has arrived, that Sherlock falls back, tearing his hands away from the wound. John – both the real one and his mind palace one – have disappeared when he looks up again. He feels cold. Tired. Shock, his mind provides him and no, no, Lestrade I’m fine. It’s John’s blood – not mine.

The wait is excruciating, but Lestrade is there with coffee and even his brother shows his face to tell them Mr Garridebs has been apprehended and will be dealt with. Lestrade doesn’t ask and Mycroft doesn’t tell.

Good, Sherlock thinks. If he were to see him again, he would tear him apart with his bare hands.

‘Bit not good, Sherlock.’

Here, in the hospital, John is back again but it provides no comfort.  He can’t tell him. He can’t promise him things will be alright anymore. It is out of both their hands and Sherlock is not sure whether or not to hate the image his mind provides him – it might be the last of John he’ll ever see.

But it isn’t. John’s pulled through and in recovery. Stable. No vital organs hit. A bloody miracle. That’s his John. A miracle in every sense of the word.

So he waits. He sits and he waits, holding John’s hand as he counts the beats of his heart. Sherlock watching John twitch and groan as he wakes and hushes him when panic flashes through his eyes when he opens them.

‘You’re in hospital, John.’ Sherlock whispers, holding John’s hand as tightly as John is grasping him. ‘You’ll be fine. Remember, you got stabbed… You’ll be fine, John.’

‘Sh’lock…’

‘I’m here, John. You’re okay. Promise.’

And it is only now, when John drifts back asleep again, still clutching his hand, that Sherlock believes it. They’ll be okay. 


End file.
